


GoT one-shot

by ValkyrieRowan



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Drabble, F/M, Game of Thrones - Freeform, One Shot, Tension, i hate you oh look sexual tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-05
Updated: 2014-11-05
Packaged: 2018-02-24 05:11:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,820
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2569379
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ValkyrieRowan/pseuds/ValkyrieRowan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Joffery mingles with northern woman and sexual tension ensues, though she has other plans, mainly killing him but that comes later (I have ideas on how to continue but little motivation to write it so enjoy <3</p>
            </blockquote>





	GoT one-shot

Joffrey ducks under another half-hearted swing from the Lannister squire, ‘Come on. Put your back in to it!’ He calls, stepping back, easily lunging past his opponent’s guard and landing a punishing, would-be lethal blow to the other boy’s armoured torso. As he crumples to the ground with a faint groan Joffrey turns away, a cruel smile turning up the pale boy’s pink lips.

‘Another victory to me,’ He says confidently as ever but rapidly losing interest like a child being told a story that will always end the same way.

‘Bravo sire!’

‘You are a true warrior.’

‘A fighting Stag like your brave father, rest his soul.’

The praise comes, like the next expected line of a dull play and Joffrey makes a sharp comment about retiring for now. They were all weaklings to not face him properly, their king, and he turns his attention elsewhere. 

He stands at the edge of the largest sand floored arena at the centre of the training courtyard. Around him is a jungle of grappling bodies and colliding weapons, a cacophony of sounds embracing him as he turns his gaze to the castle. There he sees something that stands out completely. A woman, small but bold, arrayed in a harsh blue and silver gown, and flanked by a guard that towers over her. 

Stranger still she was making her way to the veritable battleground, her eyes seeming to bore into him. He is all of a sudden aware of his dishevelled appearance, sweating a little from the fight and his hair a mess. It was as if his mother was in his head scolding him. As she walked closer he can make out simple brown hair falling prettily on shoulders of a small frame though not much shorter than the boy king. Though the colour may be southern she radiates a sense of the north and he can make out a silver sun pendant resting on her chest. Her pale skin and sharp features made her seem fierce and explains why when another guard approaches her to urge her to leave she easily waves him off and continues to carve a path through the shocked masses of men.

Taking his eyes off her for only a moment Joffrey turns to his squire ‘Who is that?’ He asked, fighting to hide burning interest behind mild curiosity. He is sure he recognises her from a council meeting or some other arduous event.

‘Lady Loralai Karstark, your majesty,’ the boy replies reverently, his eyes turned to the ground, ‘a representative of her father during negotiations with the north.’

A woman as a representative? The king had never heard of such a thing though he truly had not been part of things of late and she seemed as if she could handle herself. He smiled a little at that thought. He was very interested now; his eyes back on her and told another of his men to call her over for an audience.  
He watched as she accepted gracefully and shot him an interested glance as she approached though it was barbed with something else, something dangerous.

‘You majesty, I am honoured.’ She says respectfully in a voice of velvet as she dips into a perfect curtsy. A mysterious smile curves up a face that is not beautiful in the conventional sense but the king sees something else there, something more.

‘I wondered what a daughter of winter is doing in this sea of wretched men?’ he says frankly, enjoying the distraction.

‘Simply admiring the weaponry and skill, sire. I have an interest in such things,’ her words are measured as she rises and the sun glints off the deep-set emeralds of her eyes,

‘Is that so?’ His voice becoming playful.

‘Indeed,’ I often played with my brothers at Karthold, the Starks boys would visit on occasion as well.’

‘Ah, so the wolves were in your home as well?’ He says, the memory of the traitor coming to the surface.

‘Yes…’ Her voice still clear but with an edge of tension at his words, ‘but let us speak of more merry things such as his majesty’s skills with a blade,’ she continues.

‘Indeed, in fact have you an interest in other weapons? We have quite the selection here.’ He says, gesturing to the various stands and setups around the yard. ‘Walk with me?’

She smiles and he feels his heart move in a way it never did for the Stark girl, ‘Of course sire,’ She replies, though her thoughts are far from romancing the false king.

Unaware of this he continues, waving away all of his attendants, they are flies in his ears and takes the lady’s arm making their way around.

He tells her stories of the weapons they walk past, ignoring the barely covert stares of the men they pass as well. At last Lady Karstark stops at one table with more interest than she has shown at any other. A dozen expertly crafted throwing knives are lined neatly upon the battered wooden surface and she distractedly touches one.

The men practicing with the targets hastily bow and excuse themselves from the king, leaving the two alone in the sheltered space just at the edge of the courtyard.

‘Fine worksmanship sire’ She says, eyeing the blades interestedly, ‘I was told that a knife was what first ensnared Lord Stark. Lord Baelish in a form of betrayal if I am not mistaken.’

‘One cannot betray a man who commits treason, only bring him to justice,’ the king replies, annoyed that his playmate would bring up that grisly business. ‘In any case, yes these are fine blades, Kings Landing has the finest smiths of course.’

‘Of course.’ She repeats, her hands closing around a knife, her hands slipping into the familiar grip as she schools her face to hide the rising anger and disdain. Turning back to face him, she asks respectively, ‘may I try?’

He laughs a little, ‘With the knives?’

‘Yes,’ she replies, a mischievous smile creeping into her tone.

He wondered at how her words always seemed to hold meaning beyond what was spoken. A dangerous wolf of the north indeed, intriguing that she came in this form. ‘Why not?’ He replies, studying her impassive face and exaggeratedly stepping out of her way and inclining his head childishly. ‘Just be careful.’

‘I always am,’ she says, the steel in her voice clear now like the blade she raised in practiced formation, spreading her feet and angling her body to the target.

His eyes are fixed on her face, pure concentration, eyes set and her nose just a little crinkled in a way he can’t help but innocent. He is entranced. 

She lets out a breath slowly and the knife flies easily like any arrow at the target.

Joffrey holds his breath…

It lands with a resounding thud. A hair away from the bull’s eye, the target shaking a little. He is speechless; staring at the impossibility while Loralai turns back to the table and takes up another of the beautiful knives.

Finally he looks back at her from the target and can’t help thinking how similar she is to the weapon. ‘I must say I’m impressed my lady,’ not knowing what to expect next from this formidable woman.

She smiles at his reaction, ‘As I said sire, I would often play with the Starks, we were quite close,’ her voice heavy with the memory. ‘Of course… before the treason,’ she gets out eventually, her voice catching on the last word.

If the king notices he ignores it and continues ‘Seems the wolves are good for one thing then.’ Smiling fully now, though he could never admit what he was feeling. He told himself he was reacting politely, like anyone would, ‘what else can you do?’ 

‘This,’ she whispers and then she moves, a blur and they are inches apart, her knife pressed against his throat and his lips far too close to hers.

In that moment he is on fire and drowning and every nerve is struck by lightning. He is falling, falling, falling into those shimmering emerald eyes and his skin boils where the knife presses into him. Not hard enough to break skin but a little more than just a jibe.

He should be angry, he should be scared but all he can do is lose himself in the face before him.

It would seem however that others will do the fearing for him and from the corner of his eyes he sees the Hound and a half dozen other men rushing towards them.

‘It’s alright,’ he says waving them off as they near. He does it with difficulty as the knife is pressed against his Adam’s apple. 

Her smile is positively predatory now, and in that moment she is the one with all the power. The emeralds are twin daggers piercing his heart and he is suspended between disbelief and awe. No one, no one at all would do this, and he is aroused. As soon as the feeling emerges he stamps it out, ridiculous, he tells himself. Utter foolishness.

This all runs through his mind in the second between his perfect lashes batting once and then again, as if questioning what he is seeing. He dares not move though, out of curiosity or concern he is not sure but when they finally move she is the first. 

The features frozen in a scowl now soften as she lowers the knife slowly and Joffrey feels the relief of breathing clearly as he straightens. Absently fixing his tunic and armour he lets his gaze wander around the yard as she turns to carefully replace the blade with its twins.

A second of silence and then she says sharply, ‘you are vulnerable sire.’ The playful girl is gone, the wolf now burning at the surface and her words drive home when she says them, ‘someone might take advantage of that one day.’

And just like that she is gone, carving her way through the crowd as easily as she did before. And just like that the tiresome men surround him again, fussing like the women. But not like this woman. Nothing like her.

They are saying something about how reckless that was, how she should be punished, the insult to him and a myriad of tedious political concerns. He hears them all but as if in a dream because his thoughts are still in that charged moment.

He watches as she re-joins her guard, a look of concern on the large man’s face. Instead of waving him off she gives him a softer smile that Joffrey didn’t think could exist. With her sweet words they continue up the hill again. He watches her till she disappears into the castle. His conflicting emotions rage in his head like the small council but slowly resolves into one resounding thought. 

He needs to see her again.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope y'all enjoyed & any comments and kudos would be immensely appreciated <3


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